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• Yom Kippur Evening 5763 - It All Depends on Yirat Hashem
It All Depends on Yirat Hashem
Erev Yom Kippur 5763
Congregation Beth El of the Sudbury River Valley
Rabbi David B. Thomas
Abraham Joshua Heschel once told the story of a school boy who was forgetful. He was always losing things. One September, before school began, he worked out a system. Before he went to sleep that night he made out a list of all the things he would need the next day. He wrote: My suit is on the chair. My hat is in the closet. My books are on the desk. My shoes are by the door. And I am in the bed.
When he woke up the next morning, he started to collect his things. They were all in the right places. The suit was on the chair. The books were on the desk. The shoes were by the door. Then he came to the last item on his list. He went to look for himself in the bed but the search was in vain. He wasn’t there.
“Where am I?” he asked. (Dov Peretz Elkins, Moments of Transcendence)
That’s the question we come here to ponder on these Days of Awe. Our things are in order — but where are we? Each of us must ask — Where have I gone since last year? What have I become? Who do I want to be? Can I become more of a mensch? Where am I as a person. Is mine a life well-lived?
On Rosh Hashanah eve, we began a conversation about what it means to have a life well-lived. I spoke about the six Talmudic questions you see around our sanctuary, presenting them as a paradigm for self reflection — a model for what it means to live well. We strive to respond with a pure heart: “Yes, I have dealt faithfully with others, I have committed myself to lifelong personal growth, dedicated myself to the future of the Jewish people, I live with hope in my heart, argue for the sake of heaven and search for the ultimate meaning of my life.” These are the essential ingredients in a life well-lived.
There is, of course, a problem with this model. The rabbis don’t tell us how good we have to be. There is no objective standard as to how much time we should devote to study, or how many children we must have to fulfill the mitzvah of “Be fruitful and multiply” (although this is discussed elsewhere). How do you know if you have found “enough” meaning in life to gain entry into the world to come? Frankly, when we take these principles seriously, it’s hard to see how anyone could fulfill any of them.
I think the sages of our Talmud knew that. Consider the text: in tractate Shabbat (BT Shabbat 31a) Rava said: “On the day you are entered into judgment you will be asked these six questions.” Our assumption all along was that in order to pass the test one would have to answer all six question in the affirmative, or at least half of them. Or perhaps it would even be enough to be able to say, “yes” I fulfilled one of them in my lifetime. But not so! After going through all of these ideals we find a rather strange statement:
“One way or the other, if you live with Yirat Hashem — the fear of God — it is well. If not, it is not.” In other words, it does not seem to matter whether you answer yes to all these questions or to none of them; if you live in awe of God, you will merit your place in the world to come. If not, well …. You won’t.
Now, if the only thing that matters is Yirat Hashem, we’d better talk about what it means and how it relates to the quality of our lives.
Much has been said about the biblical notion of yirah, which is literally fear and trembling. The Torah presents a God who is real, present and intervenes in history. The people of the Bible feared God because they experienced God in the physical world. Over time, our understanding of God has evolved and our relationship with God seems more ethereal. Moderns tend to experience yirah as a sense of awe. It is a feeling of wonder and humility — an encounter with the profound mystery we confront when we live with an awareness of the world outside of ourselves.
Defined as such, Yirat Hashem — awe of the Divine — ought not cause insurmountable difficulty for those of us who struggle with belief in God. I consider myself to be a professional God-wrestler. That is what it means, of course, to be Yisrael. We Jews are by our nature a people who struggle with God. We are, you might say, lifetime members in the ‘WGF’ — the World God-wrestling Federation!
Personally, I question God’s transcendence. I seek God in all the works of creation. I call God to task for pain and suffering and I praise God for the joy, the ecstasy, and the love I experience in my life. And yet, I still don’t know what or who God is. However, I do know is that there is a force or a power or a unity or something outside of myself that gives purpose and meaning to my existence.
Living with a sense of awe is possible only when we look beyond ourselves and realize that we are not at the center of the universe. We become open to a world of profound meaning when we realize that there are things beyond our own needs and desires.
Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote (God in Search of Man p. 74): Awe is itself an act of insight into a meaning greater than ourselves. Awe is a way of being in rapport with the mystery of all reality.”
Yirat Hashem, then, is an awareness of the world outside of ourselves. It leads us to live our lives with a deeper sense of purpose. Ultimately, it moves us to respond to those six questions — not out of fear — but in pursuit of meaning amidst the profound mysteries of life.
Take for example the first question — Did you deal with people faithfully? For the most part, as we go about our business we deal faithfully with others because we respect the law or because we are deterred by the consequences of breaking it. Judaism moves us beyond the law to act ethically out of Yirat Hashem. This awe of the Divine is what the Hebrew National hot dog company means when they claim: “We answer to a higher authority.”
A better example is found in the Jerusalem Talmud (PT Bava Metzia 11) which relates the tale of Rabbi Samuel who happened to travel to Rome at a time when the queen lost a precious bracelet. Rabbi Samuel chanced upon it. Meanwhile, a crier went around the kingdom announcing: ‘Whoever brings back the queen’s bracelet within thirty days will receive a great reward. But, if the bracelet is found on him after the thirty days, his head will be cut off!’ Rabbi Samuel did not return the bracelet within the thirty days, but a day later brought it back to the queen. She asked him, ‘Weren’t you in the kingdom?’ He replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘So did you not hear the proclamation?’ He answered: ‘Yes, I did.’ She asked: ‘What did the crier say?’ He told her the crier’s words. So she asked: ‘Then why did you not return it within the thirty days?’ He replied: ‘So that you would not say that I feared you, but I returned it because I feared God.’ At which she proclaimed: ‘Blessed be the God of the Jews!’
I don’t know that it was such a great idea to risk offending the queen when Reb Samuel could have submitted to both her authority and God’s by returning the bracelet on time. But he does make a point. We are morally bound to return lost property, not because the owner is rich or famous or even powerful, but because he or she is a human being who, like us, carries within them a spark of the divine. Yirat Hashem is the consciousness of the divine in others that obligates us to act justly no matter who they are.
Living with awe of something outside ourselves sanctifies our relationships with others and leads us to fulfill the criteria for a life well-lived. With Yirat Hashem, we live with greater certainty that our motivations are pure.
We know that the rabbis put Torah learning as their highest value. They equated it with prayer and the performance of all other Mitzvot together. Furthermore, our tradition values the study of Torah Lishmah — for its own sake. Would it matter then, if someone studies Torah without any consciousness of God? Must one believe in God to reap the benefits of Torah learning for its own sake?
According to the Talmud, one who studies Torah without Yirat Hashem is like a bank clerk who was given the keys to the inner vault, but is locked out of the front door. The existence of a power or a world outside of us that claims authority over how we live is the underlying assumption of the Torah. There is no Torah absent a commanding presence in our lives — even if that presence manifests itself only in the ways of the natural world. To know this is to respond to Torah with awe and humility. That is what the Psalmist meant when he said “Awe of God is the beginning of wisdom.” (Psalm 111:10)
Finally, I’d like you to recall the story I told you about Elimelech of Lizansk on Rosh Hashanah eve. Remember, he was the one who, upon being ask a similar series of questions responded negatively to every single one, yet was admitted to Gan Eden by virtue of his honesty. If you didn’t hear the anecdote, or don’t remember it, don’t worry, I’m going to tell it again, because there is an crucial point that I intentionally skipped so that I could mention it tonight.
You see, when I told you about Elimelech, I left out an important detail you need to know in order to understand that it was not for his honesty that he merited a place in the world to come. The truth is, Elimelech was a giant in his generation. He was a brilliant scholar, he authored prayers that lead us to worship with heartfelt sincerity, and he was known for his mitzvot and good deeds. He could have honestly answered ‘yes’ to all of the questions he was asked.
With that in mind, listen once again:
The story is told of Elimelech of Lizansk who, from time to time, would say: “I will earn eternal life.”
A guest once asked him how he could be so sure: “Is it not written (Pirkei Avot 4:4), Be exceedingly humble, for the end of humankind is dust and ashes.”
Elimelech replied: “When I arrive at the gates of Eden, they will ask me:
— Did you learn enough Torah?
I will say: No.
Then they will ask:
— Did you pray with enough fervor?
I will say: No.
And then they will ask:
— Well, did you fulfill the other commandments as you should have?
I will say: No.
Finally they will ask:
— What of your good deeds?
I will say: I had none.
And then they will say:
— An honest man. Come in, come in.” (Chaim Stern, Day by Day, p. 196)
In truth, Elimelech was more humble than he was honest. It was his humility, not his honesty that earned him a place in eternity. Only his humility kept him from saying so himself.
Humility is a sign of a person who lives with respect for the world around him, for the divine in humankind, and with reverence and awe of God. Such Yirat Hashem — such awe — is a necessary ingredient in a life well-lived.
Lest we think that humility is easily achieved, I am reminded of the oft quoted Golda Meir, who said: “Don’t be so humble. You’re not that great!”
Yet on this Day of Atonement, we search our souls and reflect on the quality of our lives. We look for humility as a sign of respect for our world, awe of humankind, and reverence for God. This night, and in the year to come, we pray to live in accord with the words of the prophet Micah (6:6,8):
With what shall I approach the Eternal,
Do homage to God on high?
It has been told you, O man what is good,
And what Adonai requires of you:
Only to do justly
And love mercy
And to walk humbly with your God.
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